


Certain Dark Things

by Swiggity_swydra_fuck_hydra (Haych_Aych_Ach)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Matt Murdock, Frank Castle/Grief, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Humiliation, M/M, Masochism, Mentions of Murder, Praise Kink, Sadism, emotional masochism, honor bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haych_Aych_Ach/pseuds/Swiggity_swydra_fuck_hydra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a kinkmeme prompt here (http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=12129629#cmt12129629). </p><p>Title comes from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII:</p><p>"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,<br/>or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.<br/>I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,<br/>in secret, between the shadow and the soul.</p><p>I love you as the plant that never blooms<br/>but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;<br/>thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,<br/>risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.</p><p>I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.<br/>I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;<br/>so I love you because I know no other way</p><p>than this: where I does not exist, nor you,<br/>so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,<br/>so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certain Dark Things

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentions of grief/guilt and Frank's extralegal activities, as well as a dynamic where Matt's own morals are shaping the way that they have sex.
> 
> Disclaimer: the actions characters take in this story, the things they are into, and how they behave is not a reflection on the author or commenter/reader's own beliefs, interests, morals, personality, etc. Fiction is fiction. What some characters like to do and what they think is right is not necessarily correlating with reality or truth, etc.

Frank didn't close his eyes. He stared at the ceiling, highlighted by the flourescent of the billboard, flickering like fire.  
  
He didn't look down once. Matt had said to kneel on the cushion--and it was a nice cushion, too, good for his knees--and place his hands on his ankles and tilt his head back. Frank had gone to that position and hadn't moved since. In this hazy, dreamlike world, he wouldn't, not until Matt said so, and like this he _was_ Matt, not Daredevil or Murdock.  
  
Frank's eyes watched the ad's pattern of black and white and colors as Matt moved around, getting things, then walking slowly over to Frank.  
  
"I hope you know," Matt said softly, "That tonight is not going to be simple, or nice. You haven't earned nice, yet."  
  
Frank didn't move, but he agreed. He never felt like he earned any of the nice nights, the ones that were so gentle it hurt his skin, got under it like wasps. Nights like tonight were much better.  
  
He heard Matt scrape a cane against the floor, gently, horribly. It made his skin tighten, but Frank didn't move.  
  
"Now," Matt said, his voice like a monster in a horror movie, all allure and revenge and _come into my parlor_ , "Don't move from that position once, and don't look down even a single time, but when you want to, make noise for me."  
  
Frank would do it; he would do anything for Matt, anything to be kissed or fed or, the best of it all, told _good, that's so good, you're such a sweetheart for me really_.  
  
The cane cracked without warning onto Frank's chest, right against his nipples, and Frank didn't move, but he moaned very quietly.  
  
Then the cane came again and again, against this nipples until they bruised, against his thighs. Matt's voice came soft and still pissed, "Get on your forearms and knees, still on the cushion, facing down," and Frank did, ignoring how the cushion rubbed his nipples, sparking agony like tinsel in his nerves.  
  
Matt hit him again and again, the cane leaving bruises that would hurt for weeks, his voice still small and hurt. Good. Maybe this time Frank wouldn't graze a hostage.  
  
"You know that you need to be punished," Matt said, voice dark. "You understand it. You're not stupid. You know what morals are. But you're not a good enough person to stop yourself from doing things that give you punishment in the first place, so you need to be hit and humiliated and hurt, so you can remember to at least _try_ to be a good person."  
  
He reached down and pulled on Frank's hair. Frank kept the position. Matt then said, "Do you want to be good for me? Answer."  
  
Frank's voice, sounding unlike himself, came out. "Yes, Matt, please."  
  
"Please what?"  
  
"Please help me be good."  
  
Matt said, voice now getting heady with want, "Of course I can, sweetheart," and Frank's heartbeat jumped in his chest with joy at that.  
  
"Now," Matt said. "Almost done. I've got something new for you. It's called a Wartenburg wheel. I want you to stay perfectly still for me while I use it, and if you can, I'll know you _actually_ want to be good."  
  
Frank felt a low, calm determination in his gut. He would. He _would_.  
  
Matt scraped something--it felt like sparks, like a very weak electric fence--over his back, his ass, his limbs. It was hard to not move, but Frank did things that were hard every day. Like getting up out of bed after the split second where his brain thought, muzzy and stupid with sleep, _I wonder if Maria's made coffee_.  
  
Matt had him then go flat on the cushion, hands still beside his side, and used the wheel. Frank kept still and calm and didn't move once.  
  
After using it on his cock--and _that_ was hard not to twitch from at least--Matt put it down and sat himself on Frank's pelvis, his ass against Frank's cock.  
  
Frank kept still. He could do this.  
  
"Oh, _sweetheart_ ," Matt said, and leaned forward to kiss him, "You can move now, but don't push me off."  
  
Frank made a soft little noise of animal relief as Matt kissed him, his face flaming at the words.  
  
"You're so good," Matt continued as he peppered his face with kisses and teeth. "You're so good for me, sweetheart, I wish you could hear it like I hear it, the way your heartbeat's calm and metronome-steady until I say that you're good, the way it jumps when I call you by your name."  
  
Frank's face went even hotter at that. It should have been ridiculous, to hear Matt say that _Sweetheart_ was his _name_ , but instead it was everything he needed, everything he craved. To be good. To have orders and follow them.  
  
"I know you need orders, too, sometimes," Matt murmured. "I'm going to make the rest of the night so good for you, because _you've_ been so good, you earned it," and he rolled his hips against Frank's cock, Frank's mouth involuntarily whining at the sensation.  
  
Matt laughed at that, saying softly, "What would you do for me, to get my cock?"  
  
The question didn't make any sense to Frank in this state--it was up to _Matt_ , not him, everything was right then--and instead he just made a noise of pure want.  
  
Matt laughed again, hips rolling and wriggling against Frank's dick, and Frank didn't buck, didn't push him off.  
  
Matt reached down, and shifted so his cock was almost against Frank's mouth, but Frank knew better by this point in their relationship to just reach out and lick, no matter how inviting it was.  
  
Then there was a wet _pop_ and Frank realized that Matt had just taken out a plug from his ass, and the next thing he knew it was being smeared on his face as Matt then put it on the ground. The smell of lube and nothing else made him flush against his will.  
  
"Now," he said, voice satisfied, "You're just as filthy outside as in."  
  
Frank's cock twitched at that.  
  
"My sweetheart," Matt murmured as he scooted backwards and lined up Frank's cock to his ass, "My perfect good sweetheart, my slut, mine, mine," as he slid down.  
  
Frank's mouth fell open and his whole body felt like it was on fire from the praise, every bit of his skin hungry for Matt's, his spine wanting to curl up from embarrassed pleasure.  
  
Matt began to fuck himself on Frank's cock--no, that wasn't quite right, Matt began to fuck Frank with his ass, clenching and squeezing in perfect harmony, a rhythm building and building.  
  
"Don't come," Matt ordered, so Frank focused on keeping it back. It was like pushing away a brick wall, but he would do it, he would do anything for Matt.  
  
Matt seemed to pause, studying Frank, and then took his cock in hand, squeezed it, and started to fuck Frank again in earnest, bouncing up and down, back flexing, face shadowed against the billboard, strands of hair like burnished bronze and slivers of black night.  
  
His breath went sharp and as he came over Frank's face, aiming carefully, he said, " _Sweet_ heart, you're so good, I wish you could be good all the time," and Frank struggled and managed--just barely--to not come.  
  
Matt gasped then, rolling his hips, riding it out, and said, voice like a bombed-out cathedral, "Come in, sweetheart, be good for me, _come_ ," and Frank did, his whole face distorted in pleasure he knew he didn't deserve.  
  
Matt leaned down and kissed Frank again, and said, "You're so good. Come sleep with me," and stood up. Frank followed, legs weak, but he followed orders. That was the point of this.  
  
He'd be gone by morning, his brain buzzing with plans and gut heavy and twisted with the weight of the way his kids used to wake him up in the morning, laughing and playing in the kitchen, hands itching to pull the trigger on him, and him, and him too, but in the meantime, all he had to do was follow orders.


End file.
